Review of ‘Crocodile Fever’: “Brutal dark comedy tears itself to pieces”

London’s Arcola Theatre welcomes Meghan Tyler’s savage satire involving two estranged sisters reconnecting through patricide. Guillermo Nazara shares his views on the show to let us know, through his dissection, if its blunt storytelling makes the cut.

When an unknown, struggling Stephen King was writing the initial chapters of his first novel, he couldn’t feel more ashamed of what he had achieved. Believing what he had created belonged nowhere else but in the bin, he threw away the few pages he had come up with and decided to scrap the project for good. It was not until his wife pulled them out and started reading them that his attitude towards his work changed. “You can’t stop now — this is good stuff,” she said. A few months later, a masterpiece of horror had been born. And its name was Carrie.

There are a few correlations between King’s all-time classic and Meghan Tyler’s slasher dark comedy, Crocodile Fever, which had its London premiere last night at the Arcola Theatre. All of them work in an antagonistic way, however. If King developed a character everyone could relate to, despite its extremeness and her not-so-common ability to move things with her mind, Tyler’s sororal alliance comes across as obnoxious and uninviting to say the least. If King delivered an intricately crafted narrative filled with action and originality, Tyler’s endeavour is a sluggish, aimless concoction with very little individuality and character depth. And while King’s work was meant to be rescued, I’m not that sure that I would have missed this one too much.

Somewhere in Northern Ireland, a young woman devoted to taking care of her declining father receives a surprise visit — suffice to say that it’s not the pleasant kind. Her older sister has returned, and despite the unenthusiastic welcome she’s got, she isn’t planning on going anywhere. A futile effort of reconciliation will soon escalate into a painful unboxing of concealed memories, accompanied by unspoken secrets and lies. But none of that would compare to the terrible deeds both sisters will soon be responsible for, as the pious one snaps and helps her rebel sibling to torture their dad — shooting him in the leg, stabbing him in the chest, and chopping both his legs off.

I would encourage you to run away, but that expression seems inappropriate now for some reason. However, if you had any expectations of laughing or being entertained, I’d recommend you turn around. Despite its many attempts, it really isn’t very funny. And no matter how many hardcore elements they put into the story, the formula doesn’t react, nor does it cause a reaction in the viewer — other than, perhaps, boredom and some occasional moments of dismay.

Tyler’s script doesn’t convey anything that their convoluted plot requires to keep audiences invested — or even enticed. Although the tone is coherent and well-established from the beginning, the endless idle platter making up over half of Act One compromises its chances of engagement. You may argue that a reunion between two estranged relatives would lead to that type of conversation, and you would be right to do so. But even the most realistic scenarios need a trim or two when they leap into the world of fiction. If we consider everything that happens next, including a massive talking crocodile speaking in their father’s voice, I’m sure a bit more dramatic pacing wouldn’t hurt its credibility much.

In addition, all the roles come off as excessively archetypal. There are no personal traits other than those specifically designed to fit the mould they were assigned to. Are you the black sheep of the family? That goes with some rules, I’m afraid: an 80s frizzy mane, a lumberjack shirt, and a foul mouth to ensure you don’t lose track of who you are. Are you the repressed good girl? Just add a little OCD to your control-freak attitude and poised mannerisms, and you’re ready to go. And of course, have the cliched over-demanding father making sexist jokes to build your antagonist. That should do the trick! Well, I’m sorry to say that it doesn’t.

Rarely does its humour land. Many lines are supposed to be bitchy and full of wit. Yet, they all feel too safe and predictable. Despite how vicious the recount gets, there’s no true shock value in it. Ultimately, it’s a messy hodgepodge of violent satirical devices that hardly function by themselves — let alone come together. The two protagonists are offered some arc, but eventually, everything looks exceedingly rough even for its style. And regardless of its absurdist approach, its lack of sharpness is extremely noticeable.

We can take some solace in the cast’s fine performances — admittedly, the only redeeming feature in the show apart from its adequate staging. Tyler, who also stars as the disobedient sister Fianna (Fifi if you want her to lose it), gives an exquisite portrayal filled with stamina, jest, and insidious charm. At the same time, Stephen Kennedy makes a memorable appearance as the mutilated Da, brimming with sharpness and natural dry drollery. Finally, Rachael Rooney also excels in her interpretation of the initially self-restrained sister, Alannah, flaunting comicality and presence despite a few overly methodical choices.

As the two siblings brandished an old tape of Brian De Palma’s film icon in front of their bleeding father, I couldn’t help but see how the writing was, in fact, digging its own grave. Unlike with Carrie, there’s nothing resonant, amusing, or even hooking in Crocodile Fever, whose title now symbolizes, at least to me, more of a delusion rather than a fantasy. It’s not a bad premise, but its heavy-handed execution has resulted in this clueless outcome, which is also rather limbless.

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All pictures credit to Ikin Yum.

Crocodile Fever plays at London’s Arcola Theatre until 22 November. Tickets are available on the following link.

By Guillermo Nazara